BMT/AT Figure 8 Day 47: Fresh Perked Coffee or Miles? What a Sophie's Choice.
Day 47, Sunday, October 18, 2020
Stealth Site at Hogpen Gap (Mile 214.8) to Lance Creek Tenting Area (Mile 2169.1)
Mile 515.3
Miles Hiked: 14.3
There are so many people on the trail right now. Lots of day hikers. Lots of people out for a few nights, getting a taste of the Appalachian Trail. Big groups of friends and couples and the occasional solo hiker like me.
This morning I counted 11 tents in the first two miles of my hike, including one group of four dudes standing around waiting for a steaming percolator to finish its perking and offer them up fresh-brewed coffee.
It occurred to me to stop and chat and wait for the inevitable offer of real coffee, but I had miles on my mind.
CHATTING UP HIKERS
I try to chat with one or two hikers every day. Chatting up strangers is not something I’m comfortable doing in real life. But out here on the trail, it comes more easily.
It’s easy enough to get something going with the usual “how far are you going,” “where’d you start,” “how long will you be out,” “where are you camping tonight.” Usually, it’s the solo hikers who are most up for a chat. The people who hike in groups are less open to expanding their circle. And day hikers? Forget about it. They just want to get to the top.
HIKING ON THE AT VS HIKING THE AT
Hiking ON the AT is a different experience than hiking the AT.
It’s all about community.
There’s less of a sense of community when the trail is filled with random parties with random goals.
But if you’re going the distance, the trail offers a community of people striving for the same goal. When you meet a fellow long distance hiker, you recognize them as one of your own. Feel free to skip the small talk and dive right in to conversations you might not have with even your closest real life friends.
When I met the Gatherer las night, he’d been looking for me even though we’d never met. He’d heard there was a woman out here doing the same obscure hike as him.
SERENDIPITY IS THE RULE, NOT THE EXCEPTION
It reminded me of all the serendipitous encounters I’d had on the AT.
M&M, who I’d heard interviewed in an online trail prep course called Wild and White Blazing, then met at a shelter two years later.
Iron Man, who I’d hiked around in the Shenandoahs and beyond, but who eventually fell behind. Or speeded up, I never knew. Until we hiked a section of the White Mountains SOBO, and there he was, in the parking lot at Franconia Notch, on the day of the eclipse, offering me a pair of eclipse glasses and a hug.
Crazy Carl, who was only hiking a section. I met him in Georgia in June, while I was finishing the southern end. He stood out because he carried a chair over his head. Two months later, I’m strolling north through the Hundred Mile Wilderness in Maine and a guy with a chair on his head rounds the corner just ahead, heading south. It’s Crazy Carl and one of those reunions that make the whole “No rain, no pain, no Maine” ordeal so special.
And all the people who just kept showing up intermittently as I moved up the trail—the AT and the Long Trail—who weren’t exactly tramily, but whom always felt like old friends when they rolled into camp and said, “Roo!!!!”
It happened almost daily.
Meeting the Gatherer, then, was like meeting a hiking soul mate—instantly bonded by the task of hiking a long trail.
It gave me my hiking tribe even if there were only two of us. Even if I’d likely never see him again.
THE REST OF THE DAY
But I DID see the Gatherer again…this morning.
He was one of the 11 tents along the ridge, though I’m pretty sure he didn’t have a percolator.
We chatted for a while, then I was off.
I thought about stopping at Neel’s Gap. But the endless stream of motorcycles jangled my nerves, so I filled my water bottle, washed up a bit in the sink and hiked on.
I’d been dreading the climb up Blood Mountain. It looked so steep on Guthooks. But the worst thing about it was the parade of day hikers. The climb was easy peasy because TRAIL LEGS ARE THE BOMB!!!!
I found a big rock slab at the top, hidden from the traffic, and lounged like a lizard in the sun for a while.
Then it was just forward motion up and over the top and all the way down to Lance Creek, an official tent site with a few tent pads lined up like Scrabble tiles.
I read the fine print in Guthooks and some kind hiker directed me past the pads and the bear cables to a private peninsula next to a tiny stream.
I always get the best camp sites.
